Rebound Guy
by Grlufear
Summary: A look at Jesse and Isabel a few years down the line. Not pleasant.


Title: Rebound Guy  
  
Author: Grlufear  
  
Pairing: Jesse POV  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Roswell (if I did there would be some major changes to what's been going on lately), don't sue me; the best you'll get is pocket lint.  
  
Spoilers: I don't know the episode name, all I can say is if you don't know the big news about Alex…don't read this (though that would be weird if you knew about Jesse)  
  
Feedback: Always welcome  
  
Archive: Ask and ye shall receive  
  
A/N: All I can say is for me Alex and Isabel is forever  
  
  
  
She is wearing the red dress today. He watches her closely. Today is the day he dreads each year. He looks into blue eyes that do not see him and he wonders if today will be the day she leaves him.  
  
He's long since given up wondering who it is she thinks about. He knows she'll never tell him, like every time before she'll laugh it off and pretend that she doesn't know what he's talking about.  
  
But what ever she may say, she is wearing that dress today. The dress that she leaves hanging in the back of the closet the rest of the 364 days of the year. It's the only red thing she owns and she refuses to wear it any day but today. It is a bright red, a come-hither-I want-to-catch-your- attention red.  
  
He watches as she slips her feet into strappy red things that he supposes could be called shoes. She looks like she's getting ready for a date. In these moments years slide from her face and he imagines he's seeing her as she was during high school. Except she doesn't smile. Doesn't even smirk in that infuriating 'I know I'm right' way that she has.  
  
He wonders if she realizes she is unhappy. If she ever thinks about how wonderful her life would be with the Other…  
  
He hopes she doesn't. He knows it's selfish, but wants desperately for this to be the only day she isn't in love with him. The only day where she isn't satisfied with their lives. With their little house, their promising careers and their dedication that kids just aren't something they're interested in right now.  
  
He goes to the car to wait for her. It is a big black suburban with gray interior and lots of gadgets they never use. He's always hated these cars, too big and they block out everything ahead of them infuriating the drivers behind them (he should know he was one once). But it's the car to have for up and coming middle class yuppies which, even in a small town like this, is what they have become.  
  
They drive in silence. He knows now that there is no talking to her. He remembers the countless conversations he would start up hoping to be recognized. Remembers how all his words would fall flat when she refused to reply. He doesn't try anymore, can't stand the indifference.  
  
He drops her off in front of the cemetery. He would follow her in but knows from experience that she'll just give him that look. Who is he and how dare he intrude? He wants to yell that he is her fucking husband, the man who loves her. But he doesn't, he just opens the door for her and murmurs that he'll return in an hour. He wonders when he pulls away, if she would stay the entire day if he didn't come for her. He blocks the answer from his mind.  
  
He drives around the block. An endless circle that he will complete again and again hoping only that he can keep the Other away from her. Like an old dog that circles the hen house to keep the foxes out. He knows it's too late though, that the danger is already inside.  
  
When he picks her up he can see the tracks of tears on her face and her red swollen eyes. He is insanely jealous then. She who can never spare a tear, who must always be so calm and in control, she is not ashamed to cry now for a boy long since dead. He refuses to ask himself if she'd cry like that for him.  
  
They pull into the garage and she opens the door and steps out, hurrying for the door inside. He sits like a stone in the driver's seat. He won't go in. He knows what he will find, knows exactly what she will do.  
  
She will walk into the their room, past the bed where they sleep, and into the closet that they share. She will reach for that faded yearbook and slip down onto the floor. She will stroke that damn ghost's picture and then she will sob. She will not stop sobbing until she falls asleep with a smile on her face; a smile more true than any she has ever directed at him.  
  
He knows this like he knows the sun will rise tomorrow. It is an unalienable truth of their lives. One day out of the year she is not his and she belongs only to the Other. He knows this and he is okay; he's gotten pretty used to being the rebound guy. 


End file.
